


Sympathy for the... well, you know

by NeoVenus22



Category: Reaper
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-19
Updated: 2009-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-04 16:11:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeoVenus22/pseuds/NeoVenus22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's no such thing as a grace period.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sympathy for the... well, you know

"Dude, aren't you the least bit concerned that the boss man is going to see you driving this pansy-ass tree-hugging car and think you're playing for the other team?" asked Sock, drumming his hands on the dashboard.

"Boss man? Who, Ted?" They'd been sitting in the Work Bench parking lot for five minutes, unwilling to actually go inside. It was Saturday. Saturdays always sucked at the Bench, when hapless husbands came in with fat wallets and high hopes for weekend fix-it projects. The same guys who came back Sunday to stock up on gauze.

"No, dumbass. The Dark Prince. The Author of All Lies. Ol' Gooseberry. Scratch." Sock tilted his head back and let out a scream that could have been the opening to 'Immigrant Song', or could have been demonic possession. Some mornings it was hard to tell. "You like that? I hit up the internet this morning, did a little research. Did you know they keep other stuff on there in between the porn? Anyway, have you gotten the new toy yet?"

"The vessel? No. I'm not even sure who the soul is." It had been three days since his last visit to the DMV, and no hideous boxes had appeared anywhere.

"Maybe you get, like, a grace period," suggested Sock. "You know, a little time off as reward for excellent performance. You should totally do something with your time off, bro. Take Andi out, get a little freaky-freaky..." Sock started to dance in his seat in a demonstration of precisely what Sam should have been doing with Andi.

"Get out of the car," said Sam, pushing Sock's shoulder in the general direction of the door, hoping he'd get the hint.

"Dude, I'll make sure to tell Andi's sweet ass you say hi." With a little bark of sound and a finger waggle, Sock bounded off to annoy his fellow employees.

"Can I call in dead today?" Sam asked the roof of his car.

"Not today, Sam."

Sam wondered if there would ever come a time when he didn't jump seeing the devil materialize in his rearview mirror. He twisted awkwardly to glare into the backseat. "Could you stop showing up where I work?"

The devil lifted his eyebrows as though Sam had just said something incredibly Sock-like stupid. "I think you're forgetting who else you work for."

Great. That meant a new soul, a new vessel, in addition to his ten-hour Bench shift, most of which would probably be spent in compost again. "Don't you have something to do?" groaned Sam. "Souls to corrupt or something? More deals to make, more lives to ruin?"

"Don't talk about my job as though you understand," Satan said sternly, though after a moment, his mouth relaxed into that familiar 'ah, you know you love me' smile. "You know, deals with the devil turn out okay 50 percent of the time. You just never hear about those ones."

"Why not?" said Sam. "You think it'd be good for business." He knew he sounded sort of whiny, but he really didn't need this crap today.

"There's no such thing as bad publicity. Besides, the kingdom of hell gets its numbers regardless of anything I do."

"Oh, so it's a kingdom now?"

"Your friend was right when he called me a prince," said Satan, beaming. Sam wondered if anyone else saw the charming suited man in his backseat, or if they just assumed the poor Work Bench kid had had one too many run-ins with the merchandise. "Listen, Sam, I like you."

"Great, thanks, that's really comforting to hear."

"There isn't anyone who doesn't appreciate knowing they're liked, Sam."

"I hope you recognize that 'the devil likes me' isn't exactly a great selling point in most circles." Definitely not ones where he might ever want to be a member.

"It is with me." Sam dropped his head to the steering wheel, wondering if waking up this morning had been a mistake. "This isn't a punishment, you know," said the devil.

"I sort of thought it was."

"It's the unfortunate consequence of a decision your father made. It's a little bit of a punishment for him, yes, but that's not your concern. Your only concern is with me. This is a favor, Sam, not a chore. You're allowed to have some fun with it."

"Fun," drawled Sam, "right." Because spending his days borrowing Bench merchandise and chasing after the super-powered undead in full-body condoms was a total blast. Well, Sock seemed to think so, but Sock seemed to think a lot of things that were ultimately very, very wrong. "Have you ever noticed that hunting down escaped souls is kinda scary?"

"Challenge is often scary."

Sam gaped at the zen-like man in his backseat. "You're kidding me, right?"

"You need to go at with a clear head," suggested Satan. "Maybe you should take it easy, drop by the break room more often."

"The br—" Sam began, but when he turned around again, nada. He slapped his hand on the steering wheel, wishing he could hit something —someone— else. "Of course."

Sam hopped out of his car and headed towards the store, definitely close to punching in late and having Ted freak out on him. And Saturday progressed just as crappily as Sam had guessed it would. By the time his break had rolled around, he smelled like wood shavings, somehow had a weird stain on the knee of his pants, and Sock was humming a funeral dirge.

"Kill me, Sam," said Sock, sticking his head in his open locker and inviting him to shut the door.

"If there was ever a parade of people least qualified to possess a chainsaw, those'd be the guys," said Ben. He glanced at Sam, laid out like a chicken on a chopping block. "Present company excluded."

Sam listened with half an ear. He'd seen Andi headed off for the food court, and he was wondering how offended she'd been if he joined her reeking of woodcutting. Probably not that much, actually, she worked here. He opened up his locker to stow his apron, but there was no room for it. The entire empty space was filled with that stupid box. Sam had no idea how he was going to get it out. He didn't even know how it'd gotten in there, there wasn't an inch of space to spare.

Then he realized. Satan. Break room. Of course.

This was turning into the worst day ever.


End file.
